


Fantasma

by SeventhStrife



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Ezio Auditore da Firenze, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Desmond Miles Lives, Desmond Miles Needs a Hug, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Desmond Miles, Pack Dynamics, Rating will change, References to Depression, Secret Identity, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags updated with each chapter, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29066874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife
Summary: Desmond didn't think about the future—couldn't afford to when it all felt like a fever dream and his current reality was so far removed, to even speak of it would get him labeled as insane. And if he turned his head and squinted, he could almost treat this as a vacation. A new start, for sure.But the honeymoon phase ends rather abruptly when Desmond is forced to accept that the past lacks supplies he sorely,desperatelyneeds.It's always something, isn't it?
Relationships: Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Desmond Miles
Comments: 160
Kudos: 378
Collections: How Dare You Tell Me I Can't Ship These Two?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [HowDareYouTellMeICantShipTheseTwo](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HowDareYouTellMeICantShipTheseTwo) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Based on our Discord conversations including Desmond time travelling to the past and hiding his identity and hiding that he's an Omega and a lot of stuff happens but eventually he is happily mated to Ezio. I will add more details as I get them from our brainstorm session!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discord is filled with _filthy enablers_ and I love it lol. This fic literally would not exist if not for the conversations I had there, so thank you guys for being awesome and having absolutely the _biggest_ brains in the galaxy!

Desmond had gone so long without letting himself feel it, he didn't recognize it for what it was. Not at first. 

What he _did_ notice were the heads that turned, the automatic way people he passed in the street turned up their noses, impolitely scenting the air but seemingly unable to help themselves. The looks were worse, confused and irritated and _interested_ , all at once. It happened twice, once when he was shopping, and again late one night, when the guards he'd been tailing, as silent as a shadow, suddenly stopped and turned, eyes scanning the roads with intent even though there was literally _no reason_ why they should have noticed him at all.

Desmond receded into the shadows, thinking, _What the fuck?!_

He spent an embarrassingly long amount of time pacing in his hideout, trying to puzzle it out. Walking around in pure black would be just as ostentatious as all white, but Desmond's simple cloak and tunic, in dark greys and sturdy, workman's leathers, should have made eyes pass over him. And typically, they did, but lately it seemed like people's eyes were being tugged _towards_ him by an invisible force that screamed for attention—attention Desmond needed to actively _deflect_ these days, as wary of Templars and guards as he was Assassins. One wrong move, and it would be all too easy to be cornered, especially in Rome, where the Assassin's presence had never been stronger.

It didn't click until he finally sat down, absently reaching into the collar of his shirt to rub at his overheated skin. He grimaced at the sensation of his clothes sticking to his chest from sweat but pulled a blanket close anyways. He needed it behind him because these last few days his spartan set up of a single down pillow and a thin sheet wasn't cutting it, and just when he was mentally adding more pillows to his shopping list, he froze, hands stilling on the large lump of sheets he'd created—perfect for holding.

 _Fuck me,_ Desmond thought fervently. He recognized _this_ sign, at least. He only got... _cuddly_...when his Time came.

His goddamn _heat_ was here. 

Scowling, Desmond ripped the sheet away, made himself unfurl it and lay it down flat like a _normal_ person would, and tried to figure out what to _do._ Just by habit, his hand laid flat on his chest, over the concealed pocket inside his tunic—empty. It had been empty for days now, but had—until very recently—housed his scent blockers and suppressants. But after four months in fifteenth-century Rome, he'd finally exhausted his supply, and that was after cutting his usual dosage in _half_ and supplementing what he could with the current medicine—namely slathering disgusting, acrid smelling poultices over his scent glands and wearing a scarf. The doctor he'd consulted, once he'd come to accept he would be stuck here for some time, had offered other remedies, not realizing exactly what ailed Desmond, but bloodletting or enemas wouldn't help him here.

The stress of facing a heat made Desmond swallow, nauseous. Stuck in Rome without a single modern convenience to stop this from happening. It was his worst nightmare come to life, and what made it particularly horrifying was how _quickly_ it was coming, despite the fact that he'd only run out of suppressants _three days_ ago.

Desmond had to face the facts; it was happening, and he was woefully unprepared.

He didn't sleep that night, too stressed and wracked with restless anxiety, focused on the moment he would succumb and be worse than useless—needy and helpless and willing to do whatever he was told.

That terrified him more than anything, but by the time morning came, Desmond had a plan. If he had to deal with this, he could still take steps to ensure he wasn't taken advantage of.

The last time Desmond had seen the doctor, dressed in his black habit, masked as always, it had been a relatively quick visit, inconsequential when compared to the sheer amount of patients he surely saw. But when Desmond approached his covered stall, he greeted Desmond like he'd made an appointment.

"Did the poultices provide any relief?" he asked straightaway, and his eyes, barely visible past his glass lenses, watched Desmond with critical scrutiny.

"Er—" Desmond paused for a moment, unsettled he'd been remembered. He forced himself to move past it; he didn't really have a choice. "For a time. But now I have a...different problem."

"What ails you, _Il Fantasma?"_

Desmond barely stopped himself from reacting; the name at times felt like he was being _punished_ for helping. So he sees a few guards abusing their power and takes them out occasionally? So he decides that he doesn't want to fuck up the timeline more than he already has and doesn't want to run into a certain ancestor? So maybe he enjoys his freedom and not being questioned and possibly tortured, and doesn't go out of his way to introduce himself to the Assassins of this era? So maybe he actively _avoids_ them, ducks behind cover or uses a smoke bomb to escape any time the Assassins manage to get the drop on him. 

So _maybe_ they were looking for him because their Mentor ordered his capture? And maybe it's only too obvious that Desmond's Assassin-trained and they've seen that and think he's a spy of some sort?

Was all of that _really_ a reason to give him a name as sinister-sounding as The Ghost? Just because he didn't want to talk didn't mean he was a bad person, sheesh...

It was also mildly upsetting that this doctor had seemed to put the dots together after only meeting him _once,_ but his interest in Desmond seemed to be purely professional, so perhaps he wasn't in danger of being sold out. He hoped so, at least. Doctors, of any time, seemed to serve no other agenda than their own.

"I..." Desmond struggled to phrase this in a way that wouldn't get him immediately committed. "I was hoping you'd have something that...hides a very strong scent. Or at least masks it."

"Is this a wound that has festered? A lesion of some sort?"

"No," Desmond shifted uncomfortably, aware of the early morning sun beating on his back, the streets as they began to fill. "It's..." Desmond sighed, realized he'd just have to come out with it. "Do you have something that stops a heat? Or conceals it from others?"

The doctor tilted his head and seemed to stare at Desmond in what he could only guess was blank confusion. _"Scusi?_ I'm afraid I don't understand," he answered eventually. _"Stop_ a heat?"

"Yes," Desmond agreed, cheeks warm. Talking about this stuff, rare as the occasion was for him, always _sucked._

"That...that is not possible!" The doctor exclaimed, bewildered. "Why would someone do such a thing at all?"

Desmond grimaced; he'd expected the answer, but still...

"Maybe some people have better things to do," he muttered, petulant and disappointed.

The doctor shook his head, beak cutting through the air. "The heat is a natural process of the body and _must_ be allowed to run its course. Only those very near death experience a lack of their cycle, if they are not past their prime." Another shake. "It would be best to inform whoever this Omega is that they have nothing to fear and it will be over before the week is done."

Desmond blinked. Already, the few people that populated the market this early had noticed him, scenting his pheromones, so why...?

 _The mask._ Between it and the herbs no doubt crushed into the beak, it was no wonder the doctor didn't realize it was for him. _Now if only the rest of Rome could catch on to this trend._

"I will," Desmond said with a sigh, swallowing his disappointment. He held out a bag of coins. "Can I get a few more jars of that same poultice?" May as well stock up for later. "Oh, and do you still have any more of the herbs you keep in your mask?"

After another twenty minutes, in which Desmond made his purchases and endured another lecture on treating the body well, he left the shop, clinging to the shadows and trying hard not to cringe from every pair of eyes that turned his way as he passed by.

_God, this really fucking sucks._

He'd left this morning with his neck wrapped, but the glances were making his skin crawl. He ducked into the first empty, shadowed alley he could find and dipped his first two fingers in the pungent-smelling jar he'd just bought. Quickly and efficiently, he slathered the sides of his neck with it, shuddering at the icy-cold, thick and slimy feel of it, then painstakingly wrapped his neck with the linen bandages he'd bought. Once his neck was fully covered, he tugged his black scarf back on and raised it to cover his nose, just as before.

_That'll have to do._

It was somewhat effective; people still scented the air, but their noses wrinkled and they instinctively looked _away,_ almost always before they even clapped eyes on Desmond. That was perfectly fine; he had no issue walking around being stinky when compared to the alternative.

Well, he'd exhausted the possibility of somehow staving off his heat. Now he only had to—

"My friend!" A familiar voice called.

_FUCK ME._

Desmond didn't betray any of his frustration, only came to a halt on the cobbled path and waited, hand tightening around his sack of medicine.

A moment later, a hand clapped on his back, big and warm and bringing with it the scent of a soothing Beta.

Leonardo's eyes twinkled with surprised delight. "It's been some time!" he exclaimed. A moment later, his nose wrinkled imperceptibly before smoothing once more; Leonardo was nothing if not polite. "How have you been, my friend? It is good to see you well!"

Despite himself, Desmond smiled, unseen beneath his scarf. Leonardo had a way about him, that was for sure.

"Hello, Leonardo."

"I don't believe I've ever seen you at the market," Leonardo mused. "I didn't think ghosts needed such things."

That _fucking_ name. Desmond shrugged, tried to inject some levity into his voice even as his eyes darted over Leonardo's shoulders, tracking everyone who paced by them. He needed to get indoors, _now._ "Ghosts haunt where they please, I guess."

Leonardo laughed. "Well said!"

Leonardo had become a friend quite against Desmond's will. He'd been content to haunt Rome as _Il Fantasma,_ fighting from the shadows when it was necessary but mostly just... _living_ again. But he'd been exploring in the night and his vision had flashed red the moment he'd leapt between two buildings. He'd only stopped long enough to notice the guards, dressed to betray their loyalty to the Borgia, and another person walking a short distance ahead, unaware of the men closing in.

It had been a simple thing to fall from the sky and perform a double execution. His attack had been quick, but even the most oblivious person notices the cut-off choke of someone being killed and bodies hitting the pavement. Desmond had looked up, ready to make a quick escape, when his eyes caught on _Leonardo da Vinci's_ and had promptly frozen, half out of shock, half from the sudden and forceful wave of memories not his own that had swamped him.

That hesitation had cost Desmond his only chance to escape. Leonardo had thanked him effusively, refused to hear a word of protest, and dragged Desmond to his shop. Part of it had been because Leonardo had gotten him drunk, but Desmond had stayed that night mostly because he'd been...lonely. While he appreciated the opportunity to wake up each day and fill his lung with fresh air—something he thought he'd put behind him, _permanently,_ back at the temple—he itched for someone to talk to, a single friend to call his own. His most lasting interactions were when he talked to shopkeepers or when he traded blows with Assassins or guards trying to kill or capture him. 

And Leonardo was very good at being a friend.

Leonardo opened his mouth, but Desmond took a step back and cut him off. "I can't talk," Desmond said, pitching his voice as apologetic as he could muster when he was this stressed out. "I need to get off the streets."

Leonardo's face darkened with worry. "What is it, my friend? Are you being followed? Are you in some sort of trouble?"

Desmond shook his head. "I can't speak of it. But it's nothing to worry about, Leonardo. I'll...see you later."

Leonardo scowled, hands on his hips. "Nothing to worry about, he tells me. _Bah!"_ Leonardo waved his hand dismissively. "I won't hold you, but be careful! It would be a shame to lose such a fascinating friend."

Not for the first time, Desmond wondered what he said that night Leonardo managed to empty two bottles of wine into him. Leonardo never spoke of it, no matter how he pressed, and he couldn't bring himself to threaten the answer out of him.

"Stay safe, Leonardo," Desmond said, shaking his hand when it was offered. 

"You as well." Leonardo's smile widened. "After all, where would we be without _Il Fantasma di Roma?"_

Desmond just shook his head and walked away. He could worry about what Leonardo knew—and what he might tell his best friend— _later._

Right now, he had a heat to survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll mind if I uhhhhhhhhh _skip_ the 'Desmond-dies-but-doesn't-and-through-Isu-bullshit-ends-up-in-the-past' exposition part? Cool. lolol It's just, if I try to write that out, this fic would never get posted, so at least this way, there's _content_ , right?! Right.
> 
> I'm aiming for four chapters, but it might be five, we'll see. 
> 
> Also, pissy, seething Ezio is literally so funny to me, guy's just like, excuse me??? How dare there be a person of interest that I don't know about in _my_ Rome??? I will never stop loving that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sundays should be the official posting day for this fic, so look forward to that! And thanks for reading!!! (￣▽￣)ゞ

Ezio spotted Leonardo just outside the market square. He had a familiar, thoughtful look on his face, one Ezio had witnessed many times when he handed him a codex page; his friend was ruminating on a puzzle, and any puzzle that compelled Leonardo was surely something of note.

Ezio called his name, hand raised in greeting, and Leonardo startled. His hands fell from where he'd been stroking his chin and he turned that reassuringly warm smile on Ezio.

"Ezio!" They hugged briefly and Leonardo laughed when they separated. "Your timing is impeccable! Or horrendous, depending on the observer."

"Oh?" Ezio raised a brow. "Why is that?"

Leonardo had an impish look about him, one that made Ezio narrow his eyes on reflex. "Oh, no reason in _particular_. Only, I was conversing with one of my more enigmatic comrades just moments before you arrived."

Ezio knew who he meant almost immediately and couldn't stop the scowl that took over his face.

"You know how I feel about you associating with that man."

Leonardo flapped a hand at him, gratingly unconcerned. "He means no harm, my friend, I assure you."

"You can not _know_ that, not for sure."

Leonardo may delight in them, but with every year that passed, Ezio only grew to despise mysteries. And the mystery of _Il Fantasma_ was proving to be among the most vexing.

The man was an enigma that set Ezio's teeth on edge. Strangers did not suddenly appear into a city he controlled with skills like _that_ without him knowing about it. They did not fight like an Assassin, kill like an Assassin, _help_ Assassins, and not be one. But here this man was, contradicting everything Ezio knew. Somehow an Assassin, but not, in his strange dark clothes, who masked his face and was never without his hood, so Ezio was no closer to learning who he was than the first moment he'd heard of him, months ago.

On the surface, he had done nothing to earn Ezio's ire, this much was true. He avoided the Assassins, but more than once Ezio had heard word of one of his brothers or sisters caught unawares by Borgia-loyalists or something of the like, only to be saved by a timely visit from _Il Fantasma._ He always made himself scarce the moment the final body dropped, and though his initiates were trained by the best, trained by Ezio _himself,_ they could never catch him.

If his intentions really were so noble as to aid them in their fight, why run at all? Why not introduce himself, share what information he had, make firm allies of them? 

No, until Ezio had this man and questioned him, he could not believe him to be anything other than an enemy. An enemy with more information on them than he would like, if his contact with Leonardo meant anything. Of all the people in Roma, why befriend this _specific_ artist? It could not be a coincidence. 

Ezio crossed his arms, good mood banished. "I suppose it would be foolish to expect to tell me where your _f_ _antasma_ has gone?"

Leonardo gave him a look of stern disapproval. "You are wrong about him, Ezio," he stressed. "If he had sinister intentions, surely he would have made his move after all this time. From what I've seen..." Leonardo's brows furrowed in worry. "He seems...displaced. I've never seen him with a pack of his own, nor does he carry the scent of one." 

That was...indeed strange. To carry no scent but your own wasn't uncommon, but from what Leonardo was implying, _Il Fantasma_ didn't even carry the lingering notes of another packmate. Ezio found the thought of that vaguely disturbing. That kind of separation—it didn't bear thinking of. 

Leonardo shrugged. "I am your friend, always, Ezio, but I can not in good conscience betray the trust of a man who has saved my life."

Ezio's grimaced. He didn't like it, but he respected it. "Very well. But be careful," Ezio warned, pointing. "If he so much as bumps into you," he vowed darkly, "His life is forfeit."

Leonardo smiled. "Thank you, Ezio," he said, well used to Ezio's particular form of affection when it came to protecting his friends.

They parted ways soon after that when Ezio made his excuses of having important errands to run, but the moment he turned the corner, he pulled up his hood and took to the roofs. Leonardo might be content to wait for _Il Fantasma_ to betray him, but Ezio was not nearly so patient. It was true _Il Fantasma_ could be anywhere by now, but Ezio was not alone. He signaled for his Assassins to spread throughout the district and pursued the direction Leonardo had been facing himself. One way or another, he would get answers.

After hours upon hours of fruitless searching, however, Ezio was forced to grit his teeth and accept the truth: once more, _Il Fantasma_ had lived up to his namesake. He was nowhere to be found. 

With a careless gesture, he dismissed his fellow Assassins to either resume what work they had before he'd summoned them or to head back to Tiber. Ezio, seized by a restless frustration, decided to patrol, unwilling to inflict his mood on anyone until he'd allowed it to pass.

As he'd thought, it helped to explore the city he'd slowly but surely fallen in love with. It had taken years, but ridding the proud city of _Roma_ from their Borgia oppressors had been gratifying beyond words. The people were free, laughter threaded through the streets once more, and his family—what little he still had left—was safe and secure in a city that would keep them protected. Pride was a dangerous thing, but Ezio was not shamed by the feeling as he perched high upon a tower and gazed over the city. He'd bled for _Roma_ and felt blessed that he was able to see the fruits of his efforts where many other men had to be content passing the mantle of the fight to a new generation. 

It seemed fitting that, in this moment of peace and introspection, he should be visited by the sight of the one person he'd sought to turn his thoughts from.

A flash of gold on the edge of his vision snapped Ezio from his idle musings and he glared into the distance. His second sight triggered without his consent and he saw there, not far at all:

_Il Fantasma._

_Merda!_ Ezio leapt from his perch and was quick to scale the rooftops of _Roma,_ eyes unwavering on that searing, golden flash. 

This was something Ezio had not dared confide in another living soul, for fear he'd start a panic. He'd seen _Il Fantasma_ only once before, and from a much greater distance. But both times, there had been this same flash of light in his awareness, illuminating his body like a beacon. It was why it chafed Ezio so badly that he hadn't caught the man yet because he knew it only took a glance to be able to zero in on him—but he'd proven to be a gifted evader. 

This light, however, already so separate from the vibrant crimsons and pulsing blues and muted grays he was accustomed, had only appeared before him just a few times before. And each time, it was the power of the ancient artifact, the self-same one he'd sealed away. The Apple.

That was the true reason why Ezio distrusted this _Fantasma_. Anyone connected with such power was an enemy, bar none. Power that absolute was an incredibly corruptive force, and this man shone like he was an artifact made flesh. _Il Fantasma_ was more dangerous than anyone truly realized.

Ezio followed _Il Fantasma_ to the _Campagna_ District. His confusion and wariness only grew as he watched _Il_ _Fantasma_ avoid the soldier's barracks, and by effect any populated area. If not for Bartolomeo or his men, this district offered nothing more than farmland and abandoned encampments.

The mystery only deepened; Ezio scowled and followed.

Before long, Ezio managed to close the distance between them—but not so close as to betray his presence. The sun had long-since fell, but the moonlight threw into relief Il Fantasma's dark clothes and hood. He went straight to his destination, an abandoned guard tower, without so much as a look back, and that was more suspicious than anything else he had done. There was an air about him that spoke of intense focus as he reached the tower and began to scale it, but it could be a trick, Ezio knew. But it could also speak of distraction, and if so, Ezio was not above taking advantage. 

The tower stretched from a dilapidated fort and only reached a few stories above the ground. High enough to provide a decent view of the immediate surroundings, but no more. Clinging to the shadow of a similarly neglected stone building, Ezio glared at the structure and thought furiously.

Infiltrate what could very well be a trap, or wait and see if _Il Fantasma_ revealed himself? There was also the option of alerting Bartolomeo to this threat that had made its home right beneath his nose, but Ezio didn't want to raise any alarms until he was sure if this man was a threat or not.

By placing himself so far from any people, Ezio was forced to concede that perhaps he'd finally found _Il Fantasma's_ residence. At the very least, he certainly wasn't posing a threat this instant, housing himself miles away from the closest possible neighbor. In the end, Ezio decided against waiting in the night; there were smarter ways to handle this, and he had resources.

Ezio lingered one last moment, staring, before he bled into the shadows and was gone. Finally, his path was clear, and this nagging mystery would cease to plague him.

For two days, Ezio sent teams of two to watch that isolated tower in shifts so that there wasn't a single moment it was being watched. For two days, the reports came back the same: no movement of any kind. It seemed impossible that _Il Fantasma_ had somehow slipped past them; Ezio had studied the schematics of that building and knew there was no exit he could take that one of his brothers would not spot immediately. The thought that he hadn't left that building in two days was the obvious truth, but somehow just as troubling.

On the third day, Ezio relieved the team assigned surveillance and decided to confront _Il Fantasma_ himself. Having the support of his fellow Assassins would have been nice, but if _Il Fantasma_ truly had no ill intent, approaching him with reinforcements would send the wrong message. And if he had the power of a Piece of Eden, Ezio knew _he,_ at least, was resistant. He was far past the age to indulge in unnecessary risks.

Ezio warily circled the building but could discern no traps of any kind. Still erring on the side of caution, he climbed the tower just as he'd watched _Il Fantasma_ do a few nights prior.

When Ezio crested the tower at last and hauled himself through the window, he nearly fell right back down. 

The scent _slammed_ into him, so sudden because outside, the wind had blown it away. But _inside_ , it had settled, inescapable as it seeped into the very stone and declared resolutely and firmly:

An Omega was in heat. 

Ezio immediately switched to breathing through his mouth, alarmed by this turn of events. Of all the things...

What was worse, this was no place for an Omega to spend their heat. It was unsafe, for one thing, but it lacked the necessary supplies, nothing with which to build a nest, no scented oils to ease their pleasure. It was as inhospitable as a place could be, short of being a dungeon, but it wasn't far off.

That was more than apparent when Ezio landed on the dirty flagstones and clapped eyes on the figure huddled against the wall, behind the bars of a cell that took up half of the small, circular perimeter of the room. A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him, made him want to pick up this abandoned Omega and take care of them, he _needed_ to take care of them—but sense returned and with it, clarity.

For a moment, Ezio's second sight flashed, washed _Il Fantasma_ in blazing gold. Ezio quickly blinked it away, still frozen in shock, and found _Il Fantasma's_ true eye color, a rich, dark brown, no less burning without the glow of an ancient artifact.

He was still fully dressed, but his hood was down and his facial covering gone. He was pale, broad of shoulder, but thinner than Ezio would have expected, now that he was close enough to see his figure. His hair was a rich, deep brown, just long enough it began to curl around his ears, and it stuck to his face and neck where the skin was sweat-slicked. He was flushed and smelled divine.

 _Il Fantasma_ took one look at Ezio from where he sat on the filthy stone ground and swallowed.

 _"Fuck,"_ he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm...so tired...hopefully there's no big typos, but if so I'll handle them TOMORROW. (ಥ﹏ಥ)
> 
> Oh, and Happy Valentine's day!!! ♡＾▽＾♡

_Of all the fucking Alphas._ Desmond knew this was as dire as a situation could get, but he was almost _relieved_ to see Ezio, here and now and in the flesh after all this time avoiding him; maybe he'd just kill Desmond, put him out of his _fucking_ misery.

"What..." Ezio seemed to finally find his voice. The staring had been kind of funny, in a distant, horrifying way. Desmond already missed it. _"What is this?"_

Desmond's hand itched to pull up his scarf, but he knew there was no point; Ezio had already seen. When his heat had started, he'd unwound the bandages, scrubbed the dried, flaking medicine from his neck and scent glands. He regretted that now.

He cast his eyes away, down and to the side. He gripped his legs tighter where he had them pulled tight to his chest. A wave of heat washed over him, a scorching, full-body fever that made him wish he could _rip off_ his oversensitive skin so he wouldn't go _insane._ An answering pulse between his legs made him close his eyes and he withheld a groan.

When it passed, he licked his lips. "What does it look like, genius?" He was past politeness, at this point. If Ezio had hoped he'd grovel and beg for his life when they met, he'd just have to be disappointed. There were no words for how little Desmond cared.

There was silence for a long moment, then the sound of footsteps against the flagstones; Desmond stiffened and opened his eyes.

Ezio had one hand curled around the bars. He'd taken a knee to better meet Desmond's eyes and there was a frown on his scarred lips. He swept his hood from his head so Desmond could appreciate the full force of his expression: confused and frustrated and maybe just a little worried.

"Why have you locked yourself away like this?" he asked, voice more somber than Desmond had been expecting. 

Desmond stared into those dark, concerned eyes for a beat, then looked away. He tucked his face into his legs as he let the next wave of agony pass through him.

"If you're not here to kill me, leave."

"...You are joking."

Desmond ground his face into his knees, already fed up. More than Ezio himself, having an _Alpha_ here, smelling so good, when he was at his most vulnerable—it was making his skin crawl.

 _"Leave,"_ he repeated, letting his anger shine through.

"I can not do that." 

Desmond's head snapped up and he glared at Ezio's with more unvarnished fury than he was probably expecting.

"Why the fuck _not?"_ he asked hotly.

"This is no way to spend your Time," Ezio lectured, _actually_ lectured him! "Where is your pack? Your mate?" When Desmond didn't answer, he pressed, "This place isn't safe. You should be somewhere—"

Desmond uncurled in an instant, daggers in both hands. In the scant light of the lantern he had shoved in the corner of his cell, they glinted with deadly promise.

"I'm not going _anywhere._ Try and _Command me_ to leave, and I _will_ kill you," Desmond promised, _daring_ Ezio to call his bluff. Because it _was_ a bluff; Desmond had very good, very obvious reasons to want Ezio alive. But Ezio didn't know that.

Frustrated incomprehension was clear on Ezio's face, but he inclined his head after a long, drawn-out stare-down. 

"...Very well."

Desmond's shoulders sagged and he resumed his position against the wall, knees hugged to his chest and arms wrapped around them as he tried to breathe through the pain. He'd barely done anything, but he was already drained. Three days into this fucking heat, and he felt as weak as a baby. 

Ezio was still watching him. And it was _really_ putting him on edge. 

"You need someone to help you through this."

Desmond's lips thinned. He didn't acknowledge Ezio at all.

He could hear the faint shift of Ezio tightening his hold on the bar. "You could _die_ like this."

_Cold grey eyes. That over-powering helplessness, the certainty that he was utterly worthless._

_This is pathetic._

_Get **up,** Desmond._

**_FIGHT._ **

Desmond tightened his grip around his legs, ignoring the disgusting sensation of more slick seeping into his clothes, the blistering heat that seemed trapped just beneath his skin.

"Then I'll die," he said quietly, voice devoid of emotion. He wouldn't go through that _ever_ again. 

For a while, there was nothing but the sounds of Desmond's unsteady breaths, the scratch of his clothes against stone as he twitched with each wave of heat that hit him. Then he heard the scuff of boots, looked up in time to see Ezio moving to a seated position, legs crossed.

Desmond _stared_ at him, uncomprehending.

"...What are you doing?"

"I can see you will not be swayed," Ezio replied. He finished getting settled, then pinned Desmond in place with a hard look. "But I won't stand idly by and allow someone to die when there is no need. I will stay with you until I know you will be taken care of."

"...You did not come here to watch over me," Desmond said, voice flat. "My being an Omega shouldn't change that."

"It changes everything," Ezio disagreed. "At the very least, it puts my business on hold until you are well enough to answer my questions."

Desmond scowled. "This is stupid. You should just leave me alone. If I die, it's one less problem, isn't it?"

Ezio frowned back. "No, it is not. I have questions, questions that will not be answered with you gone."

 _Goddamnit._ Desmond wondered why he couldn't just _die._ He'd managed to fuck that up at the temple, and it looked like he'd fail again.

"Where are your supplies?" Ezio asked, breaking Desmond out of his thoughts. When Desmond just looked back at him blankly, he made an impatient gesture. "Food, blankets." His hand waved vaguely.

Desmond sighed, then nodded his head to a leather satchel abandoned a few feet away. "Food's in there."

"Have you eaten? Today?"

Desmond grimaced. Just the thought of eating made him feel sick, even as hunger stabbed at him. His earlier show of defiance had already pushed him to his limit. Every movement caused him swift, indescribable pain, not to mention bouts of nausea. Moving his body from his safe little hunch just hadn't seemed worth it.

His expression must have been answer enough, because Ezio tapped on the bars, urgent. "You must eat, _Il Fantasma."_

 _Ugh._ It was somehow worse, hearing Ezio call him that. 

"I'm good."

"You _must_ eat." 

He'd packed his bag with hard breads, dried, cured meats and berries, but he couldn't imagine anything less appetizing in that moment. "Can't you leave and just let me die?"

Ezio glared at him. "Pass me the bag."

"Why?"

"What does it matter? You clearly do not need it."

_God, I don't remember Ezio being such a hardass._

Desmond rolled to his knees, moving only because he knew how stubborn Ezio could be and didn't feel like enduring the nagging. That, and if Ezio really was determined to stay, he'd need to eat. And, well, he was right, Desmond _was_ just gonna waste it.

Actively wishing for death as he shakily reached out, Desmond seized the neck of the bag and tossed it to the front of the cell. Ezio wasted no time reaching through the bars and rummaging through its contents. Desmond, panting for breath, flushed and horny and exhausted by the constant pain, curled up against the wall again, regrettably closer to the bars but unwilling to crawl to his old spot.

He let his head fall back against the wall, just trying to catch his breath. If he closed his eyes and ignored Ezio, he could almost believe he was alone, could _almost_ believe that he was through the worst part and that it would all be over soon.

_"Fantasma."_

The way Ezio spoke—voice deep and low—it made Desmond look at him instantly, with a singular focus that he hadn't thought possible with the amount of pain he was in.

In the soft light, Ezio's eyes were serious but calm. He was holding a piece of bread through the bars.

"Come. Eat."

Desmond was leaning towards the bars before he'd finished speaking, but he caught himself in the next moment and pressed a hand to his forehead, swallowing the urge to be sick from the sudden movement.

"Fucking heat..." he murmured. Desmond knew what an Alpha Command sounded like, _felt_ like, and Ezio hadn't even used it. He was just _that_ _far_ gone.

 _"Fantasma,"_ Ezio repeated, a note of pleading urgency in his tone. His expression matched it when Desmond looked at him. "I can only help you if you allow me. _Please."_ He held the bread up again. "You _need_ to eat."

The dagger was instantly back in Desmond's palm and he pointed it unerringly between Ezio's eyes; it only swayed slightly.

"Touch me, and I'll cut your arm off." 

This deep into his heat, Desmond was only just barely holding on to his control. The urge to strip himself bare, to take himself in hand, had been overwhelming for the last twenty-four hours, but now that an Alpha was here? In _touching_ distance? The heat had grown unbearable. His body wanted nothing more than to do whatever Ezio wanted, to throw open his cell and let Ezio do whatever he wanted _to_ him.

But Desmond knew better, and nothing was worth the humiliation and sheer, agonizing pain of submitting. He'd meant it when he'd said he'd rather die.

"I will stay here," Ezio vowed, holding up his hand in a gesture for calm. "You are the one in control here. I simply wish to help." Something pained crept into Ezio's expression, in his dark eyes. "It brings me no pleasure to see another suffer."

The worst part was that Desmond knew he was telling a truth. Against his will, he could feel his resolve wavering in the face of Ezio's steadfast and heartfelt sincerity. 

Desmond sighed. "It would be easier if you just killed me," he couldn't help pointing out.

"Perhaps," Ezio agreed. He held the bread up again and waited.

_...Fuck me._

Hating Ezio, himself, and the entire universe in general, Desmond uncurled and half-crawled, half dragged himself to the iron bars of his cell. He hesitated just outside of Ezio's reach. 

Ezio only watched him back steadily, patient and open. After a long moment of Desmond glaring at him in wary unease, he finally closed the remaining space between them and took the bread from Ezio's grasp with a trembling hand.

Ezio moved too fast for him to react. The moment Desmond took the food, Ezio's hand darted out to clamp, firm and warm, on the back of his neck.

_Oh, fuuuuck—_

Desmond's eyes nearly rolled into the back of his _head_ and he almost crashed to the floor, his body went boneless so immediately. He had enough presence of mind to grasp the bars to steady himself, morsel of bread falling to the floor, and he pressed his forehead to a cool bar as intense pleasure wracked him.

 _"Oh my god,"_ he whispered, shocked and mortified but mostly relieved and _extremely_ turned on.

 _"Bene,"_ Ezio murmured, voice sinfully deep and dark with satisfaction. If Desmond felt even _one percent_ less amazing right now, he'd punch him in the face. He felt something smooth against his lips and his eyes fluttered open as Ezio continued with, "Eat."

 _God,_ he was stubborn. Desmond could have fought some more, but he gave in, exasperated and a bit embarrassed. If Ezio was gonna pull this sort of shit, he'd rather just get it over with.

Desmond ate. The grape burst in his mouth, coating his mouth in a light sweetness, and, best of all, didn't make him want to throw up immediately. Just when he was about to point out that he could feed himself and didn't need to eat out of Ezio's fucking hand, Ezio repeated, _"Bene,"_ and ran his thumb against the skin of Desmond's neck. 

Desmond shivered, body flushing warm from the praise, minor as it was. Any words in his throat dried up and disappeared, gone in the face of the sudden wave of pleasure that settled over him from Ezio's touch and words.

They spent an endless time like that, Desmond slumped against the bars, eating and shivering, as Ezio patiently fed him bits of food until he was satisfied Desmond wasn't going to starve on his watch. But even when Desmond was finished eating, Ezio didn't release his hold on him. He snuck his other hand through the bars and held Desmond in a comforting grip around his neck, thumbs lightly caressing just beneath his jaw and at his scent glands. Desmond hadn't opened his eyes in a while and the soothing praise Ezio kept murmuring to him was making him lose his grasp on reality.

During one of the brief moments he managed to surface from the haze of pleasure, coaxed out by a stab of pain, he blinked open his eyes. With his head tipped down, he quickly noticed the state of his breeches and grimaced.

"Sorry," Desmond muttered. From how close they were, Desmond was sure Ezio had an intimate view of his slick-soaked crotch and the erection tenting his pants, obvious and obscene. He was too exhausted to muster the energy to be embarrassed. That was a future problem. At Ezio's questioning hum, he raised a hand limply, waved it over his legs before he let it fall. "This."

Ezio made a low noise of amusement and shifted his grip, kept one large hand clamped on Desmond's neck while the other one trailed up into the hair at the nape of his neck to rub in wonderful, decadent caresses. Very, very distantly, Desmond was impressed Ezio managed to keep up the touching for this long. He must have been tired, and squeezing his arms through the bars had to be uncomfortable.

"I find no hardship in the sight," he said in a familiar tone. Desmond groaned.

"No flirting," he commanded, and Ezio did laugh then, a quiet chuckle that absolutely didn't make Desmond shiver again.

"Would you ask the sun not to rise nor the birds to sing?"

And despite himself, Desmond smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Sunday, this heat isn't over! 〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to shoot a quick thanks to everyone in the comments! Reading them always motivates me to write more, and I'm so grateful to everyone who takes the time to let me know what they think! Thank you!!! (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The force of want that seized Ezio as he held _Il Fantasma_ in his grasp, pliant and trembling and _obedient,_ gripped him with a strength that nearly made him break his oath to sit where he was and do no more than these chaste touches.

He was no stranger to an Omega's heat; more than once he'd been sought out, had promised his assistance to someone who trusted Ezio to ease them through their Time and guarantee a fair amount of pleasure besides. But there were never any commitments. A partner to help through those difficult days, nothing more. With his responsibilities, the thought of mating never even occurred to him anymore. He could never give a partner, a _family,_ enough of himself to satisfy, and he didn't wish to divide himself thus, either. It invited disorder into the brotherhood and neglect to those he was supposed to protect; no, there was no choice. He was content with his pack.

When he'd been younger and in love, without any of the worries and duties he had now, there had been one Omega he'd been ready to claim as his own...but Christina had not wished for a mate that she would hardly see, that she would spend countless days waiting for. He'd never held it against her and still wished her well.

But _Il Fantasma,_ he nearly made Ezio forget about all of those reservations. Never had he wished to mate someone as much as he did now. Saliva pooled in his mouth, his teeth ached in his jaw for want of warm flesh to sink into, and he couldn't keep his touch from _Il Fantasma's_ scent glands, swollen and flushed beneath his devoted caresses. His scent permeated the tower in a way that raised every small hair on Ezio's body, and the urge to disrobe and present himself as a fit, worthy partner for mating was overwhelming.

Perhaps it was his appearance. With his face finally revealed, it was plain to see _Il Fantasma_ was attractive. Smooth tan skin, flushed comely with his heat, and dark brown eyes that were no less vibrant for their color, probing and intense each time he looked up. One could not avoid the capture of a trained Assassin for so long without having the musculature to prove it, and even with Ezio only allowed to touch his neck, to brush the top of his shoulders, it was only too clear a mouthwatering physique hid beneath the dark layers of fabric. He was younger than Ezio had expected to be so skilled. 

Ezio prided himself on being someone who made any partner happy when he shared their bed, but he'd only managed to coax a single wan smile onto _Il Fantasma's_ face. It transformed his drawn, serious demeanor in a way that was startling for its beauty. He had a kind face.

Several hours passed where Ezio held _Il Fantasma_ and soothed him as best he could with encouraging words and gentle touches. He grew sore from sitting on the chilled flagstones, but there wasn't a force on the earth that could have persuaded him from his post. 

Then _Il Fantasma_ grew worse.

His face, before smoothed of worry but for the occasional twinge of pain that seemed to pass over him from time to time _—_ the heat, protesting being unsated, Ezio suspected _—_ began to crease with distress. His eyes barely opened, but he glared at the ground without really seeing it, glassy as his focus turned inward.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" 

But _Il Fantasma_ did not answer and Ezio's instincts, this entire time wishing to break down these bars and take away the pain, seemed to _scream_ at him, _demanding_ he do something, _anything._ He made himself breathe slowly to calm the thunderous beat of his heart, urged faster by the fiery outrage and wrongness that suffused his veins to be so near an Omega in distress and be unable to provide any form of relief. 

_Il Fantasma's_ clothes had already stuck to his skin from the heat, but now sweat began to bead visibly on his skin, pouring down his body as his panting grew more labored. By nightfall, the scarce light of his single lamp nonetheless betrayed _Il Fantasma's_ state to be worsening _—_ without any visible reason _why._ Even without a partner, Ezio had never seen _anything_ like this; it surely had something to do with why _Il Fantasma_ insisted on enduring his heat in solitary confinement, but Ezio didn't _understand_ it. If he felt them so keenly, it only brought into question his choice to forgo a partner all the more.

Ezio watched _Il Fantasma,_ worry mounting with every smothered groan, each involuntary twitch and shudder of the body in his grasp, and so focused was he on _Il Fantasma's_ body, he was quite unprepared when his eyes snapped open and his arms abruptly _shoved_ through the bars and into Ezio's chest _—_ pushing him away with a force that caught him completely unawares.

Ezio grunted in surprise. It wasn't enough to topple him from his seat, but it did break his grip on _Il Fantasma's_ neck, which appeared to be exactly what he wanted. The moment his palms were separated from the pulse of _Il Fantasma's_ neck, Ezio's instincts screamed at him to resume his hold, to cradle this Omega back in his protective embrace. Ezio was reaching back before he'd fully realized it, but _Il Fantasma_ proved too swift.

He practically _leapt_ back, intent on creating space quickly, if not clumsily. It proved effective, because Ezio's hands closed on empty air, a breath away from that overheated skin.

Urgently, heart leaping in his chest from a sharp stab of _panic/frustration,_ Ezio began, _"Fantasma—"_

His words fell on deaf ears. _Il Fantasma_ had not stopped his frantic scrambling and the moment he neared the back of the cell, he twisted to all fours and heaved with a gag that made Ezio wince in sympathy, it was so raw and pained. The sound of vomit splattering on the stone echoed and the sour stench of sick tainted the feverish scent of heat.

 _Merda._ He was worse than Ezio had thought _—_ he'd thought he'd been stressing the worst possible scenario when he'd told _Il Fantasma_ he could die if he endured a heat without aid; now he saw how true his words had been. Any pride that was soothed by realizing that _Il Fantasma_ had fled him to be sick was drowned out by the disturbing sight of an Omega so ill in the first place.

And then Ezio's worry heightened into a fever pitch when _Il Fantasma_ crumpled, just inches from his own sick, and was still. 

_"Il Fantasma!"_ Ezio was on his feet in an instant, hands tight enough to bruise around the bars.

There was no response; Ezio cursed. 

He gave the bars an angry tug, but the iron held fast and true. No doubt, the key was somewhere on _Il Fantasma's_ person. Betrayal of trust it may have been, Ezio regretted not taking the opportunity to search him when he'd had the chance. That would have been vastly preferable to being forced to watch _Il Fantasma_ suffer, to barely make out the sickly pallor of his skin by the lamplight and the weak rise and fall of his chest as Ezio stood by and could do _nothing._

 _Il Fantasma_ did not even twitch when Ezio yelled his name and Ezio paced outside the cell, eyes fixed on him with desperate worry and savage anger smoldering in his chest. He rolled his shoulders every few moments as the agitation grew, fists clenching and releasing at his sides. Acrid distress and a muted sort of despair threaded through the air, an unfathomably merciless torture for any Alpha. Ezio had never left an Omega to languish in any pain, yet now all he could focus on was the stark fact that he was doing so now, that as an Alpha he was _failing._

It was intolerable. 

Ezio did not know how much time he lost to his pacing, to staring at _Il Fantasma's_ limp form, praying he would last the night, clenching his fists around the thick iron bars only to find them as unmoveable as ever.

He only became aware of the passage of time when he heard the faintest sound: the scrape of boots against stone.

Immediately, Ezio recognized it to be someone scaling up the weathered tower and he faced the single window with a snarl twisting his lips and his hands formed into claws.

The sudden, vicious reaction _also_ pulled him from the brink of lashing out and he forced his shoulders back from their defensive hunch, his hands to his sword rather than the Alpha-driven instinct to defend this territory with his bare hands.

He was the Mentor. He could not succumb to his baser nature.

He need not have worried; a moment later, a familiar hooded figure deftly pulled themselves through the window and bowed at the waist. 

"Mentor."

"Tessa." If her scent hadn't revealed her to him _—_ a light, oddly woodsy smell for an Omega _—_ the spear on her back would have, an uncommon weapon for either a citizen of _Roma_ or an Assassin. Ezio released his grip on his sword. As she rose from her bow, the long, vibrant red sash at her waist brushed the dark fabric of her breeches before settling. She had an air of deference, but beneath her crip white hood, her dark eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"Has something happened?" He had to force himself to ask the question. All he truly wanted was to chase her away from here, away from this place she did not belong.

"No, Mentor," she said. "Only, it has been some time, and when you never arrived at Tiber..."

There was no chastisement in her tone, but Ezio still felt its bite. He'd been so swept up in his discovery at the tower, he'd altogether forgotten his own orders that an Apprentice be sent to this very location should he neglect to return by nightfall.

"...Of course," he glanced over his shoulder, to where _Il Fantasma_ still lay on the ground, unmoving. Ezio's frown deepened into a glower of worry. "As you can see, I have been...preoccupied."

"Yes, Mentor." Tessa's eyes alighted on the fabled ghost with interest, though there was little to discern in the low light and his prone position. As a similar status, the scent didn't affect her as much, but Ezio still spotted the way her nose twitched, how she began to breathe through her mouth as she lingered amid the heat-scent that saturated the very air. "I hadn't realized..."

"Neither had I," Ezio agreed. "It would seem he took great pains to keep it secret."

"Clearly," Tessa said, tone dry. "To come all this way for his Time..."

It was something Ezio had ruminated on since he'd first arrived. To take such measures, it could mean nothing good. _Il Fantasma_ seemed quite alone and didn't appear to have a single packmate he trusted enough to help him through his Time. It had been mildly concerning when Leonardo had hinted at it, but to see it evidenced thus? It became much more ominous. 

"I will be here for some time yet," Ezio said. "I will need supplies. Relieve the watch, but I do not wish anyone to disturb us."

Tessa crossed an arm across her chest and bowed once more. "Yes, Mentor."

She left as silently as she came. 

Alone, Ezio allowed himself a single private sigh before facing _Il Fantasma_ once more. 

He had thought confronting the man would bring clarity. But _Il Fantasma_ refused to be a puzzle so easily solved. He saved Ezio's brothers and sisters from guards and Templars alike, yet fled any Assassin that drew near. He came to _Roma_ with no discernible goal, befriended Ezio's closest and oldest friend, but treated _Ezio_ with open distrust. 

He'd hidden his true nature and locked himself away, isolated and in the most inhospitable place he could find, to suffer in silence.

Ezio knelt at the bars, eyes narrowed as he carefully tracked the too slight rise of _Il Fantasma's_ chest.

"What secret makes you do this, I wonder?" Ezio murmured, unable to shake a deep disquiet. Then, the more pressing question, "Where is your _pack?"_

 _Il Fantasma_ trembled, he poured sweat and panted and tiny noises of pain escaped his lips, but he did not open his eyes, and he did not answer Ezio's questions. Ezio resumed his seat before the bars and prayed that _Il Fantasma's_ stubbornness did not kill him this night.

The long hours stretched and Ezio only dozed, head bowed and arms crossed, as he maintained his vigil over a man who had, just hours ago, been his enemy. The irony was not lost on him, but the severity of the situation kept him from laughter. Even when Tessa returned, only long enough to bring Ezio food and water, extra linens against the chill of the stone, _Il Fantasma_ did not move.

It was only when the sky had barely begun to lighten, no more than the faintest of early blue dawn, that _Il Fantasma_ finally stirred.

It was barely noticeable, only the slightest hitching of breath, but it pulled Ezio from his doze as effectively as cannon fire. _Il Fantasma's_ fingers twitched on the flagstones before slowly curling into a fist. In the silence, it was easy to hear how he worked to breathe through the pain that surely wracked him, although nothing could be done for the minute trembling of his body.

_"Il Fantasma."_

Ezio's voice made him twitch with a wince and with visible effort, he rolled his head enough so that their eyes met. To Ezio's surprise, he smiled, slight and amused.

"You're...still here?" _Il Fantasma_ cleared his throat, winced again. The smile stayed on his lips. "Wow...must have...been boring..."

The nonchalance raked over Ezio's raw nerves. 

"This is madness. Give me the key," Ezio urged, gripping the godforsaken iron bars. _"Please,_ let me help you."

 _Il Fantasma's_ answering laugh was a thread of sound. "Just because...I'm in heat...doesn't make me...any less your...enemy, Ezio."

It was true enough, but Ezio could no longer see _Il Fantasma_ in terms of friend or foe, not when his distress and misery saturated the air despite his uncaring words. 

"Why are you so determined that we be opposed? Would you truly prefer it so?"

The smile faltered, then fell entirely. For the first time, uncertainty alighted on _Il Fantasma's_ wan features.

"...No," he admitted quietly, and it looked like it pained him greatly to say so. Ezio did not understand this man. "But..." _Il Fantasma_ closed his eyes, suddenly appearing more wearied than he had before, in a way Ezio hadn't thought _possible._ A sigh left him. "It's easier this way."

"How can that be? How can any of _this,"_ and Ezio gestured to the bars, to _Il Fantasma_ just beyond them, prone and on death's door, "Be easier than making an ally of yourself?"

But _Il Fantasma_ merely shook his head as his eyes closed, and as much as it grated, Ezio was begrudgingly impressed, too. Even this far into his heat, when the very _sound_ of Ezio's voice should have compelled him to obey, he kept his silence.

For the next three days, Ezio stayed by _Il Fantasma's_ side despite being told, frequently, that he wasn't needed or wanted. He laid out a length of linen fabric as best as he could on the floor through the bars and coaxed _Il Fantasma_ to lay down on them when he wished to rest, using a mixture of soothing promises or relief and not-quite-threats to blow the bars apart with an explosive. It had almost been disappointing when _Il Fantasma_ had finally caved in to his demands and Ezio didn't get to make good on his promise, but the relief of having _Il Fantasma's_ skin back beneath his palms was a worthy compromise.

Even with Ezio feeding him, _Il Fantasma_ ate too little. Ezio didn't like the course his Time was taking, nor the way he seemed to grow weaker with each day that passed. Never had he seen an Omega suffer a heat so punishingly brutal, and it unsettled him greatly. If only _Il Fantasma_ could be convinced to see a doctor...

The heat finally broke on the morning of the fourth day, and _Il Fantasma_ dropped into a dead faint the moment it was over, his over-taxed, exhausted body greedily seizing the chance for rest after days of constant turmoil.

Luckily, Ezio was there to catch his limp body, to carefully lower him to the hastily made bedroll so that his head was pillowed on the folded square of white fabric that waited for him _—_ Ezio's cloak, shoved there for the chance to ease _Il Fantasma's_ suffering, if only slightly.

Frowning heavily, and more than a little tired himself, Ezio stroked _Il Fantasma's_ face through the bars with the back of his fingers, pushed some of the dark curls away from his forehead. He'd done his best to temper his baser instincts, but even now, Ezio loathed that he could do nothing more until _Il Fantasma_ rose and unlocked the cell. 

_Never again._ It was a vow Ezio planned to honor. No matter their differences, the strange animosity _Il Fantasma_ seemed to hold for him, Ezio would _earn Il Fantasma's_ trust. 

_Il Fantasma_ would never experience a heat like this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll, I had no idea who Tessa was before the start of this fic, and now I love her lol.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the chapter count, then look back at me. You guys can't see my expression, but just know that I am _PISSED!!!!_ This was supposed to be a light romp through the ABO-verse, just dip my toes in, then come back sometime in the distant future and write essentially the same fic, just longer and better. AND THEN THIS HAPPENED. 
> 
> That's part of the reason why it updated late, because I realized this fic was getting ahead of me and I had to finish outlining it so I had an actual _end goal_ since keeping it vague was apparently the wrong move here lol. 
> 
> Anyways, that way longer ABO fic I had planned is still definitely a thing, but maybe I'll just funnel those ideas into this one and do a part 2? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> We'll see. Whatever. I'm bitter.
> 
> Enjoy! XD

Desmond woke up, heat blessedly broken, to a significant problem in the shape of an Alpha Master Assassin waiting just outside his cell. To kill him, interrogate him, or kidnap him, Desmond wasn't sure, but all were very strong possibilities, no matter what Ezio had said. Now that his heat had finally broken, who was to say that Ezio wouldn't come to his senses and remember that Desmond was indeed his enemy? And this weak, Ezio would be able to overpower him with laughable ease. Just the thought of being kidnapped again set his teeth on edge.

Desmond continued to feign sleep, mind racing, but his options were depressingly limited. He'd have to open the cell eventually, but the moment he did, Ezio would have him. He could hear Ezio even now, breaths quiet and steady. Probably asleep, but Desmond knew how light a sleeper he was. If he so much as _twitched,_ Ezio would come awake in an instant.

_Why is my life such a clusterfuck?_

Barely awake for a minute and already, he had a massive headache. Was it too much to ask to just be left alone? Just for a little bit? Being popular was overrated.

Just when Desmond was considering a terrible plan to pilfer a smoke bomb from Ezio's robes through the bars and try his luck with a surprise attack, he heard the sound of someone pulling themselves through the window.

It took every bit of remaining strength Desmond had not to react. _Fuck._ His plan was shaky at best and did _not_ account for Ezio having back-up.

He heard the quick movement of Ezio rising and facing the intruder, but there was no sound of a sword being drawn, which confirmed Desmond's belief that it was another Assassin, as well as the next words that were spoken.

"Mentor." 

"What is it?" There was the slightest edge to Ezio's voice, impatient and trying not to show it. 

_Must be the Alpha hormones._ The thought made Desmond feel slightly guilty, knowing it was his fault. But, to his credit, Ezio never once seemed to lose himself to his instincts.

"I know you didn't wish to be disturbed," the Assassin said. Desmond couldn't _quite_ place her in the crowded hellscape of foreign memories that were crammed into his brain and had to resist the urge to peek. "But you have been summoned."

"By who?"

"A courier from Naples. He has a missive that he was strictly ordered to give to you _directly._ He waits at Tiber."

Ezio swore under his breath. "It must be about recruitment. _Cazzo._ And he will not wait?" He sighed, a short, frustrated noise. "Then I must go." 

There was the scuff of boots, and Desmond knew that Ezio was looking at him, Ezio _and_ his mysterious fellow Assassin. Broken from the heat-driven pain and delirium, he was more self-conscious than ever of his discarded hood. He forced the panic from his chest and kept his breaths deep and even. 

"Will you watch over him?" _Shit._

"Of course, Mentor." _Double-shit._

 _"Bene._ Should he wake, send word _immediately._ I will return as soon as I can."

The moment he heard the final flap of Ezio's robes, Desmond abandoned all pretense and sat up. He had to swallow against the lingering nausea that rose with him, body still verging on the edge of collapse after such an intense heat.

Across the room, the Assassin straightened with surprise, though her face was shadowed by her white hood and hid most of her expression. He saw how her hand twitched, made to reach for the spear slung across her back before she stilled the movement. It was an uncommon weapon for an Assassin, at least around these parts, but Desmond had no doubt that she was very skilled. He eyed it warily, not liking his odds against a weapon with that much reach when he was this vulnerable. 

_"Il Fantasma,"_ she greeted with quiet surprise.

She was an Omega. He could tell the moment he scented the air and even though Desmond knew that didn't _mean_ anything, not _really,_ he was slightly relieved nonetheless.

She crossed a hand across her chest and gave a shallow bow, lips curled in a small, amused smile. "I am Tessa Varzi. It is a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance. Although, you are not quite what I was expecting..."

"I'm sure I'm not," Desmond agreed dryly, glancing at the window.

Biting back even the slightest groan, Desmond pushed himself to his feet and wrapped a hand around a bar to steady himself. He swallowed against the bile that tried to rise in his throat, feeling completely disgusting. He wanted nothing more than to limp home, bathe, and pass out, but home might as well have been a world away at that moment. He had to deal with Tessa, preferably _before_ she could send word or Ezio returned.

"I know you have your orders, but I have to leave. And I'd really rather not hurt you."

Tessa straightened. The smile was wiped from her face and she didn't speak for a long moment, simply watched Desmond with wary vigilance, as if he might burst through the bars at any moment and attack.

After a tense silence, she spoke.

"Why do you do it?" she finally asked. "Why endure such a painful heat when there are scores of willing Alphas across the city?"

Desmond grimaced at just the thought of subjecting himself to an Alpha. "I can't," he said quietly. His hand tightened around the iron bars, the cold metal reassuring against his palm. "I _won't."_

_Never again._

Tessa stared at him, then cast her gaze out of the window. Something softened in her posture as she leaned against the far wall. She crossed her legs at the ankle, the picture of nonchalance, as she spoke.

"I understand," she said—bafflingly. It wasn't what Desmond had expected her to say, _at all._ "The struggle for independence, as an Omega, is endless. To be my age, and still unmated?" Tessa shook her head. "It is unheard of. But _I_ choose my path." She looked back at Desmond, something like approval in her tone. "As you have."

She kicked off the wall and strode to the window where she perched on the sill—seemingly with every intention of leaping out.

_Holy shit. She's actually leaving._

Overcome with gratitude, Desmond quickly reached into his tunic and produced the key to his cell. The padlock that kept the door shut had set him back quite a few florins, but its unique make ensured that it couldn't be picked by conventional methods and had been well-worth his peace of mind. When it clattered to the ground and the door swung open, he stepped through, still bracing himself on the bars.

"I—thank you," he said, meaning it. Fellow Omega or not, she had no reason to do this for him.

Tessa glanced back over her shoulder at him. "I wish you luck, _Il Fantasma,"_ she said, and a smirk lifted her lips. "The Mentor has your scent, now." And then she was gone.

The truth of those words was only too apparent, but Desmond was so relieved to not have to fight that he didn't dwell; that was a problem for later. 

It was a long, arduous hike from _Campagna_ to the _Antico_ District, across farmland and hills and empty, grassy fields, but the areas were largely abandoned at the outskirts and Desmond didn't have to worry about passersby catching his scent. He had to rest several times against a crumbling wall or beneath the shade of a tree, but his fear of being spotted by a random patrol or a well-meaning citizen kept him from lingering. 

And that was _before_ he even took into account that he'd made his home right under _La Volpe's_ nose. If he'd had better options, he would have picked _anywhere_ else, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and there were only so many abandoned palazzos with still-functioning baths formed around natural hot springs—namely, _one:_ The _Palazzo Laterano._

By this point, Desmond knew Ezio had chased the last of the Followers of Romulus from Rome and that it was well and truly abandoned. Nothing but ruins surrounded the area and since _La Volpe_ and his people had no doubt picked the place clean of any remaining spoils that might have been left behind, there was no reason for anyone to come back. For all that people took notice of it, the building might as well have been invisible.

Finally safe and alone, ensconced within crumbling, reassuringly familiar walls, he nearly passed out when he sank into the steaming pool that waited for him—but the possibility of drowning was well-worth it to wash his body of a week's worth of sweat, slick, and blood. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, but hesitated when he got to his neck. 

As silly as it sounded, he could still feel Ezio's touch there, could remember with perfect clarity the grounding, comforting weight of his hands, the kind, doting caresses against his bare skin and his scent glands. 

The thought made Desmond's face warm. He shook his head, made himself focus on the present and _bathe_ instead of daydreaming like an idiot. That was _never_ supposed to happen and he needed to stay vigilant if he didn't want it to happen _again._

It was a shame about the tower, though. He'd scouted for a long time before he'd found somewhere secure enough to have his heat. He wasn't looking forward to another month of searching.

He'd dropped his travel bag just beside the stone tiles that lined the pool and he reached for it as he soaked in the water, arms braced on the edge to keep himself afloat. Wearily, arms shaking pathetically, he shoved stale bread and cured meat into his mouth, slowly inching closer to humanity with every bite and every second he steeped in the water. It was only when he risked falling asleep right where he was that Desmond finally forced himself to leave the bath.

He'd made his bedroom in a tucked-away room in the vast _palazzo,_ almost entirely untouched by ruin; and even with its own brazier. With the possibility of starving to death finally gone, Desmond's hands only shook minutely as he struck the flint and lit it. The rich orange light illuminated the room enough to see and Desmond gratefully sank onto his thin bed, though several blankets cushioned it enough so that he hardly felt the hay beneath.

Spent and alone for the first time in days, Desmond's eyes slipped closed as the crackle of the brazier filled the air. 

Unbidden, a memory resurfaced: Tessa's surprising act of mercy, the words that left her smirking lips.

_The Mentor has your scent now._

The thought made Desmond groan. He turned on his side and covered his head with an arm.

_Later._

* * *

After his heat, things were... _weird._

For one, even though the time that he'd stopped concealing his scent had been short, he still found himself having to adjust, all over again, to the sickly sensation of slathering foul-smelling poultices on his neck, of pressing crushed, aromatic herbs beneath his bandages as he wound them tight against his skin. It always sent a cold shiver down his spine and he spent the first few days relearning how to be okay with smelling like a heady bouquet of cough syrup.

Then there were the _Assassins._

By habit, Desmond knew how to avoid them, knew which streets to duck into should he see a patrol, kept a mental map in his head of all the nearest boltholes should he be spotted and chased. And while the Assassin presence was still very prominent across Rome, Desmond was seeing less than usual. There used to be Assassins dotting the rooftops, threading through the crowds, running errands across the city, but the heavy congestion of them seemed to ease in the days that passed. It was strange, but Desmond supposed that Ezio was spreading his influence; that even checked out, given the time. After all, Ezio was credited with spreading the Assassins across most of Italy, if not the greater part of Europe. That work wasn't done overnight.

The thought did occur to him that, _perhaps,_ in light of recent revelations, Ezio had recalled his orders that _Il Fantasma_ be hunted down. There was no way to know for sure, but either way, Desmond was grateful for the reprieve. 

And he would have been content to dismiss it as simply that—but then things got even _weirder._

Namely, he'd been walking the streets, crowded as they were, making his way through the _Centro_ district. As much as he hated being among such a thick congestion of people, Ezio now knew to look for Desmond in more abandoned areas when his heat hit. Desmond had been _trying_ to find a place discreet enough to weather his heat in the city center, an inn or a shelter, preferably with a door that locked. Sensibilities being what they were for this time—particularly, that a fertile heat was to be celebrated and revered—he hadn't been holding his breath.

He'd turned a corner, thinking to cut across a side-street, and had run into a _full_ Assassin team. 

He'd known them just by Sight, more from the bright blue that bled across his vision than the signature white and red robes. Desmond had frozen, already planning his escape and who he'd have to subdue first, when the man leading the team raised a hand—not to point and decree his imminent capture, but in a tight, controlled movement, gestured to the roof, his focus never leaving Desmond.

Immediately, the other Assassins scaled the wall and were gone in an instant, leaving nothing more than kicked-up dust and the fading sound of boots against tile to mark them ever being there. Confused, Desmond had watched warily as the remaining Assassin just stood there, still staring.

He seemed younger, maybe around Desmond's age, and his robes marked him as high-ranking, a fact only highlighted by the dual blades attached to his bracers. He had a severe look about him, from what Desmond could see beneath the hood, and no doubt had many kills under his belt.

The pregnant pause grew to be nearly unbearable, enough so that Desmond considered attacking just to get it over with—but then the Assassin inclined his head in acknowledgment, turned, and scaled the wall just like his brothers and sisters before him. He was gone with hardly a whisper and Desmond had stood there, wary and disbelieving, for a long moment, thinking, _What the fuck was that?_

And it _kept_ happening. If Desmond spotted an Assassin and they spotted him in turn, there was always an acknowledgment, and then they would just— _leave him alone._

Which—okay, sure, was pretty much _exactly_ what he'd wanted, but now it put him on edge because he didn't understand _why._ Were they under orders to ignore him? And if so, to what end? Surely one heat wasn't enough to change Ezio's mind so completely; Desmond hadn't answered _any_ of his questions, after all, and for all Ezio knew, he was still very much a dangerous person.

After a week of this behavior, Desmond was resigned. He knew he'd only get answers once he confronted the source, and though he loathed to do it, he needed to know whether this was some elaborate ruse or not. He needed an _explanation_ if he was ever going to sleep again.

Despite Ezio's many reassurances, Desmond wasn't willing to test the Assassin's hospitality by showing up at their headquarters, so he simply waited nearby. Ezio held incredible influence over Rome, a fact that made him a busy man, and it wasn't long before he left Tiber Island on some errand or other. Desmond tailed him for some time as Ezio spoke to a few recruits and dismissed them with subtle gestures once they'd received their orders. Desmond waited until he was alone, then made himself known by rising to stand on the roof he'd been crouched on. 

Ezio turned to him with almost preternatural swiftness and Desmond wondered what Ezio saw when he looked at _Il Fantasma,_ what color he glowed in his vision. The tension that washed over Ezio the moment he'd revealed himself made him think it probably wasn't blue.

_And who's fault is that?_

Desmond turned and began running across the rooftops, certain that Ezio would give chase. He led the way to an abandoned guard tower, one Ezio had surely freed of Borgia's grasp just a short time ago. From there, the city seemed to stretch endlessly, and while the view was nice, it would also be a decent defensible position should Ezio decide to attack—plus, he'd see any reinforcements coming from miles away.

Desmond scaled the ladder and walked until he stood at the opposite side of the tower. There, he waited, arms crossed as he leaned against the parapet. Just a few moments later, Ezio joined him, landing on the roof with light feet. He stared at Desmond beneath his hood and when he took a step forward, Desmond automatically side-stepped in a mirror action. Ezio paused and didn't move again, just watched Desmond across the wary distance between them.

"It is good to see you well, _Il Fantasma,"_ Ezio greeted, tone cautious. "I have a feeling you allowed yourself to be seen. So what is it that you wish from me?"

Desmond crossed his arms, tense. "Your assassins," he started, getting straight to the point. "They're not trying to capture me anymore. They're—they don't try to chase me anymore when they see me. What are you planning?"

He hadn't meant to ask that so gracelessly, so bluntly, but— _well!_ He was stressed.

Ezio seemed to consider the question. He propped a hand on his hip and gestured with the other as he spoke.

"My methods bore no fruit as things stood," Ezio said frankly. "I saw no point continuing to waste resources hunting you when it is clear that they are outmatched."

When Ezio left it at that, Desmond couldn't help but press, "That's _it?"_

Ezio simply spread his arms, palms out. 

It was a relief, at least, to hear it confirmed that Ezio had recalled his capture orders, but it still left him feeling simultaneously unnerved. Sure, it made his life easier, but it also felt— _wrong,_ and it took Desmond a minute to put a name to the feeling.

Guilt. He felt guilty. As much as he valued his freedom, he couldn't help but empathize with Ezio, too. His entire life seemed compromised of frustrating secrets and endless, unsatisfying mysteries, and then Desmond shows up and only adds to the list, with the kind of skills that probably mark him as a spy in Ezio's eyes, a person that—unbeknownst to Ezio—holds all the answers he could ever want but won't reveal them. Ezio had even helped him through a _heat,_ and Desmond repaid him by interrogating him.

_God, I'm an asshole._

Sighing, Desmond straightened. "I..." He made himself look up. "Thank you, Ezio." Ezio bowed his head slightly but Desmond continued, "Not just for that, but for...before. For helping me."

Ezio frowned. "I barely did anything," he argued. "You would not _allow me_ to help you."

Desmond swallowed, his heartbeat picking up at the deep, dissatisfied rumble of Ezio's voice. "You did more than enough. Trust me."

More than Desmond had _ever_ allowed another person to do in his entire _life._ And even though Desmond had been in Ezio's grasp, Ezio had taken care of him instead of selfishly demanding more than Desmond could give. That kindness had been more than Desmond could have asked for, especially given the circumstances.

Ezio stared at him, a familiar, unhappy frown on his face—the same one Desmond had seen countless times when he'd been in heat and refused to open the door to his cell.

"I still have questions," Ezio said and Desmond grimaced. 

But...he supposed he owed Ezio _something._

"Okay," Desmond agreed. "But I can't promise to answer them."

"Fair enough," Ezio said, though he sounded like he very much wanted to argue. 

Desmond braced himself, ready to argue when Ezio inevitably asked after his identity or where he came from and he'd have to tell Ezio he couldn't answer _those_ questions.

"Your scent," Ezio said. "It is...strange. Why does it change?"

Desmond blinked, nonplussed. Of all the questions...

But it was one he could answer, so Desmond mentally shrugged and reached beneath his hood, tugged the collar of his shirt aside to better show the bandages wrapped around his neck. 

"I cover them," Desmond said, gesturing to his scent glands. "And I use medicine to make myself smell different." It felt weird to be so frank about it, but it wasn't like Ezio didn't already know he was an Omega.

"But— _why?"_

Desmond tugged his clothes back into place. There was really only one reason someone would do something like that, and Ezio had to know it.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"It is," Ezio said in grim agreement. "And _that_ is what I don't understand." Ezio took a few steps closer, impassioned, and while Desmond eyed the distance between them cautiously, he didn't retreat. Not yet. "Why hide? What shame is there in being an Omega?"

_The harsh sting of the belt across his skin, the taste of dirt in his mouth and the feel of raw, scraped skin of his palms as blind terror and deep misery overwhelmed him enough that tears blurred his vision._

_Get_ **_up,_ ** _Desmond. If you want it to stop, you will get ahold of yourself and_ **_FIGHT—_ **

"Plenty," Desmond answered, voice clipped. What he wouldn't give to be anything other than a _fucking_ Omega...

Ezio's dismay was plain to see, but Desmond didn't have another answer for him. Ezio stared at him, then asked, "And what of your pack? What kept you from going to them during your Time?" Alarm lent urgency to his tone. "Did something happen—"

"No, nothing like that," Desmond cut in immediately, before Ezio got too far ahead of himself. "I don't have one," he said simply.

Ezio stiffened like he'd been struck by lightning. "How—How is that _possible?"_

Desmond wasn't sure if Ezio was referring to the fact that Desmond was an Omega, or something else, but either way, the end result was the same. He shrugged.

"Haven't had one since I was kid, really," he said. From Ezio's continued air of horrified disbelief, this was apparently Very Bad, but Desmond honestly didn't mind; couldn't miss what you'd never had, right?

Ezio's silence persisted for a long while, long enough Desmond was thinking about ending their strange, impromptu meeting and calling it a day. Then Ezio approached and Desmond tensed, wary of anything Ezio might do.

Ezio stopped just outside of reaching distance and threw back his hood. Without it, his dark eyes pinned Desmond to the spot, fiery and determined.

"Join my pack. Come to Tiber." 

Desmond's breath caught; all he could think was: _Trap._ All he could focus on was being so thoroughly outnumbered, of walking into those familiar walls and never coming out again, kept prisoner until he answered every last question Ezio could imagine.

"I can see the thought upsets you," Ezio said soberly, pulling Desmond back from the brink of panic. He blinked rapidly, forced his hands to ease their vice clench around his upper arms. 

Ezio placed a hand over his own heart. "But you have my word, no harm would come to you within my pack."

Desmond bit back his automatic response of disbelief, although it must have been obvious on his face. And, _logically,_ he knew Ezio was telling the truth, knew more than _anyone_ that Ezio was a man of his word—

But the thought of having a pack, after everything he'd done to stay _free_ —he couldn't imagine a worse thing happening to him. It wasn't his _worst_ nightmare come to life, but it was close.

When the silence stretched and Desmond remained silent, Ezio nodded again and raised his hood once more. He strode to the edge of the tower and placed a hand on the edge of the parapet as he twisted to face Desmond one last time.

"Think about what I've said," Ezio urged quietly, firmly. "The invitation still stands, should you wish to accept."

Ezio jumped over the edge in a quiet flutter of robes, and then Desmond was alone atop the tower, Ezio's words ringing in his head. 

Of all the ways he'd expected this conversation to go, _that_ hadn't been one of them. Alone and unseen, Desmond pulled back his hood and ran his hands through his hair with an explosive sigh. He paced the length of the tower, more confused than ever.

He spent a long time up there, re-examining Ezio's offer, searching for the cracks, the hints that he was being trapped or lied to, but there were none to be found. That stressed Desmond out more than anything else.

Finally, when his circling thoughts seemed determined to stay tangled, he gave up and headed back to his warm, safe _palazzo,_ where everything was broken but at least made _sense._

 _It wouldn't be right,_ Desmond rationalized as he readied himself for bed. He pulled his extra blankets out where he'd stowed them against the colder nights, laid them in a thick pile on his pitifully thin, lumpy mattress.

The offer had been sincere, he could see that, but it was also too good to be true, even if he _wanted_ a pack. Say in this magical, fantasy world he actually said _yes,_ how long could that last, really? Being an Assassin, joining the brotherhood—it was all about trust, and what reason would they have to trust Desmond? Being pack didn't mean he could risk the future by blabbing, and with his entire life and history—even his _name_ —a secret, how could they be sure of him? Of his intentions?

 _It wouldn't work,_ Desmond assured himself, arranging his few pillows to better sandwich himself between them. _I'm not pack material anyway._

So caught up in his mental argument, it wasn't until Desmond was reaching for Ezio's cloak—the one he'd loaned Desmond during his heat and was still figuring out how he could return it—that Desmond realized what he was doing.

Ice-cold terror seized his heart and abruptly Desmond became aware of the abnormal warmth of his skin, despite the cool night air threading itself through the _palazzo,_ the fucking _nest_ he was building, how the faint traces of Ezio's scent was the best thing he'd ever smelled in his _life._

 _Oh my god._ Even though only a week had passed, the evidence was irrefutable:

Desmond was starting his heat. _Again._

_Fuck. FUCK!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right, buckle up ya'll! we're just getting started! also, I'm not sure if I'll ever get around to explicitly saying it, so I'll just mention that Desmond's heat is abnormally long. It should be three-four days MAX, and the only reason Ezio didn't blow open that cell and risk injuring Desmond was because he simply didn't know that Desmond had already been going through the heat that ENTIRE time. He's never even heard of a heat lasting that long and he really, TRULY doesn't know how right he was when he said Desmond could die lol. Desmond's body is not taking the adjustment to suddenly being unmedicated very well and is furiously trying to regulate those hormones and junk.
> 
> You know. For those of you interested in that kind of background information lol.
> 
> ALSO: Huge, giant, _emphatic_ thank you to [ Beastie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandpiperBand/pseuds/SandpiperBand) for being my beta for this chapter, you guys have her to thank for this getting updated at all because this chapter KILLED ME!!!! ＼（Ｔ∇Ｔ）／


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, I sure would appreciate it if this fic would stop insisting on being so lengthy!!!! These last two chapters alone, _god!_
> 
> Anyways. Have more of Desmond trying his hardest to cock-block himself lololol

"I'm afraid this magic potion you think I possess does not exist, _Il Fantasma."_ Sharp censure dripped from the doctor's tone and Desmond would be lying if he said he wasn't cowed by it, just a little. 

Desmond sagged, unsurprised, but still disappointed. He'd hoped by coming clean, by letting the doctor examine him, he'd be able to offer him _something—_ but as usual, Desmond had the worst luck.

Without any solution to be found, Desmond wanted nothing more than to get dressed and be gone from here. His skin felt too warm and the smells from within the doctor's shop were an assault on his sensitive nose. The heady blend of aromatics and pungent vials of medicines weren't helping the creeping nausea or the faint dizziness already building within. 

"I know. I just _—_ "

"And you say you experienced your Time already? Less than a fortnight ago?" Desmond nodded mutely, resigned, and the doctor affected a contemplative air, thumbing idly at his belt. "I've never heard of such a thing coming to pass...but if one were to guess, it could be that your cycle is attempting to reach a state of balance." He propped an elbow on the back of his hand, finger waving in the air as he spoke. "These irregular heats will most likely continue until your body has settled. I would _strongly_ urge you to find an Alpha. It is the only thing that has a chance of easing what I imagine to be an _incredibly_ painful cycle."

Desmond didn't know what was worse; the fact that he'd keep having these frequent heats, so close together he really _would_ die, or the fact that his only hope was to submit to an _Alpha._

 _Dying doesn't sound too bad,_ Desmond mused with black humor. It was all he had at this point.

 _Not just that,_ a tempting, treasonous part of his mind whispered.

 _"Focus on me."_ _Dark, steady eyes, a heavy, soothing touch on his neck that dulled the edges of the pain enough so he could breathe. "You are safe."_

 _NO._ Desmond _forced_ his mind away from those thoughts, from even the _possibility._ He couldn't let himself get dependent _—_ that thing with Ezio, it was a one-time deal. It _had_ to be.

The doctor radiated disapproval as he watched Desmond re-dress and slather a new coating of poultice on his neck; the urge to apologize was incredible, but Desmond refused and scowled back instead. 

"Think about what I have said," the doctor persisted. "If you continue to treat your body this way," he shook his head, beak cutting through the air. "You are putting your life in grave danger."

"I will," Desmond lied. 

The doctor braced his hands on his hips with a weary sigh, as if his goggles let him see straight through Desmond. He turned away for just a moment and plucked a sachet from overhead on a shelf crammed with jars and other medicine. 

"Sprinkle this in your brazier; herbs to ease your rest," he explained. "This should help, at least a little."

"Thank you, _dottore."_

If he thought his options had been slim before, they were nothing compared to _now._ His cell in the tower was compromised, and even though it was too soon for him to go back, it _had_ to be under watch now. It had taken him _weeks_ to find a secure place to ride out his heat, to repair the cell enough to function and to commission that padlock. Now he was back to square one. He _could_ go back home, but the thought of going through his heat in a place without enclosed walls, where just anyone could catch his scent on the breeze and stroll right in _—_ it wasn't even an option.

Repressing a sigh, Desmond set off, uncaring if he was seen by any passing Assassins; this early into his heat, his scent was nearly undetectable and it didn't matter if they learned where he was going right now. He'd slip back into the shadows once he was done.

Even early in the morning, the _Centro_ District was bustling, full of people running errands, going out for a stroll, shopping, running, working, laughing _—_ Desmond took great care not to so much as brush against another person. His skin felt sensitive enough just wearing his well-worn clothes and the mere idea of someone _touching_ him made him contemplate violence.

Exhaustion was already pulling at his muscles when he finally made it across the city to Leonardo's workshop. Sheer urgency made him bypass the polite knock and he slipped inside from a higher floor, relieved to be out of the sunlight and distanced from the idle curiosity of passerby.

He found Leonardo in the heart of his workshop. He was dressed down for comfort and his were feet bare, the voluminous sleeves of his shirt pushed up as he painted, standing before a large easel. Desmond didn't have much of an eye for art, but this canvas looked familiar to him.

"Is that _Firenze?"_

Leonardo spun around, a look of comical startlement on his face. He quickly set aside his paints on a nearby table and braced himself against it, where one large palm came up to cover his chest.

 _"Assassins,"_ he said wearily, with feeling. Despite himself, Desmond smiled. He'd tried arguing the first time they'd met, but Leonardo had refused to be dissuaded.

_"I know an Assassin when I see one!"_

_"Mi dispiace,"_ Desmond apologized, holding up his hands.

Leonardo shook his head. He gathered himself with a huff and faced Desmond with a renewed smile. _"Buongiorno,_ my friend! What brings you here? Usually, I have to coax you with a bit of wine to get you within my humble residence," he said, teasing.

The memory made Desmond blush and he was grateful for the hood. God, he'd never live that down.

"I came to give you this." Desmond produced the padlock from a pouch on his hip and held it out. "It worked perfectly, Leonardo, thank you."

Leonardo closed the distance between them and curled Desmond's fingers back around it, gave his hand a firm pat for measure.

"This was nothing, a few bits of metal, a simple locking mechanism _—_ child's play. I can make many, many more. Keep it." He dropped his hands, waved one carelessly. "Consider it a gift between friends."

"I...yeah. Okay. Thanks." 

Leonardo nodded with satisfaction. "And to answer your question _—_ yes, this is _Firenze._ I had thought to give it to _Signora_ Maria once I was finished, to remind her of home, although I am still undecided. It may be a reminder she does not want..."

Leonardo frowned at the canvas and Desmond considered it. 

"You should give it to her." If Desmond's math was correct, by now Maria would have recovered, enough to speak again and to focus on preserving what was left of her family. She'd be ready to face the past and remember the good.

Leonardo glanced at Desmond quickly, eyes bright with curiosity. Something in Desmond's tone must have given him away.

"You know of her?"

 _Crap._ "Er, yes."

"Then you must know her son, Ezio?"

"Uh," God, Desmond was such a terrible liar. This was why he _usually_ stuck to lies of omission. "...Yeah?"

"That is a relief!" Leonardo said genially, clapping his hands together. "I was unsure how to break the news to you that he is my oldest friend!"

"I knew that when I met you," Desmond said. When Leonardo's eyes widened, Desmond realized his mistake. Hastily, he said, "I mean _—_ "

The wave rolled over him with all the subtlety of a _bulldozer._ Desmond grunted and staggered to a knee as his stomach cramped with a deep, visceral stab. His skin flushed hotter and prickled all over, the discomforting scratch of his clothes now like _sandpaper_ against his oversensitive skin.

_No. Please, not now. _

He felt a touch on his shoulder and while the neutral scent of a Beta didn't make him feel ill, he still cringed away from the contact.

"Easy, my friend." Desmond breathed through his mouth, fingertips digging into the wall as he tried to pull himself together. When he managed to raise his head, Leonardo's eyes were clear with worry and bewilderment. "You...you are in heat!"

"Noticed that?" Desmond asked wryly, still panting. 

"I had no idea!"

"Yeah, that was _—_ that was the point." 

With a smothered groan, Desmond straightened, though he still swayed pathetically, light-headed. He had less time than he thought. 

His decision to go must have been obvious, because Leonardo immediately protested, "You can not leave in this state!" 

"I don't have a choice."

"Is there anyone who I can send for? To walk you back?"

Desmond just shook his head. He wished Leonardo would stop _talking._ His head was starting to throb like an angry heartbeat.

"There's no one, okay?"

There was a pause, and then Leonardo's touch came back, firm and urging where before it had been tentative and unsure. 

Desmond tried to protest, confused, as he found himself guided to the back of Leonardo's shop and up a flight of stairs.

"Wait _—_ "

"I can not allow you to leave without someone to watch over you, I simply _can not_ do it," Leonardo said, and when Desmond glanced back, vision swimming, it was to see a rare stern-ness on Leonardo's usually kind features.

_Yeesh. What did I do to earn that look?_

"But _—_ "

"If privacy is a concern, dismiss it immediately." 

They crested the stairs and Leonardo half pushed, half nudged Desmond to what looked like a roof entrance. He stepped from behind Desmond to unlock it with a key he pulled from his breeches, and while Desmond would have _liked_ to have made his escape in that moment, another painful stab had him falling to a crouch where he stood, arms locked tight around his abdomen.

_For fuck's sake! Why does it already hurt so bad?!_

"Come, my friend." With a sure grip at his arms, Leonardo ushered Desmond through the opening. 

Desmond winced against the sharp cut of sunlight in his eyes. The day was well and truly underway and any other time, it would have been a welcome sight. Right now, it was only making his aching head throb harder.

A small structure was tucked away into the corner of the roof: a squat and square building of plain stone. There were a few small, thin windows, but it bore no other adornments.

It was there Leondardo led him, unlocking it with swift hands so he could swing the door wide and gesture within. 

"I mostly use this room for storage, but it should suit your needs well enough." 

Desmond squinted as his eyes adjusted to the scant light. He could see barrels stacked in one corner and a few pieces of broken, discarded furniture shoved out of the way. The room was small, barely enough to fit a few people, and Desmond quickly spotted the bed tucked against the opposite wall, the small table and the shallow basin perched, ready and waiting, beside it.

"I thought _—_ you said you use this for storage?" Desmond huffed out, suspicious.

Leonardo waved a hand, striding towards the bed to turn down the covers. "Occasionally I find myself in the position of hosting those who need a safe spot of respite. This place is often overlooked."

 _Ezio._ Desmond grimaced against the small jolt of hope that went through him at the thought the sheets might still carry a faint trace of an Alpha's scent.

"Leonardo _—_ I can't stay here _—_ "

"I will not hear it." Leonardo straightened, fists resting on his hands, and stared at Desmond sternly. "Where will you go, if not here? You have said yourself, there is no one to watch over you."

"I don't _need_ anyone to watch over me," Desmond forced through gritted teeth. It chafed, fiercely, that he could barely keep his words steady.

Leonardo clicked his tongue. "This stubbornness is foolish, _Il Fantasma,_ surely you realize this?"

Another wave of heat kept Desmond's reply locked behind his teeth. He shuddered, exhaled slowly through his mouth, and winced against the vicious cramps that pinched his gut again. 

_Jesus._ This much pain, _this_ early? It made Desmond blanch. In the privacy of his own mind, he could admit it: he was _terrified_ of what the rest of his heat would bring if this was just the _start._

Cool hands slid over Desmond's cheeks and he flinched, stared with wide eyes into Leonardo's, now stripped of hard insistence to leave behind only plain, stark concern. His scent, pure and clean and gentle, soothed Desmond against his will, made him tilt his head a bit into the hold.

"There is no shame in this, my friend," Leonardo said quietly, a small, encouraging smile on his lips. His eyes searched Desmond's face, confused yet supportive. "I do not understand why you separate yourself this way, but there is strength to be found in friendship. Allow me to help you."

Desmond stared at Leonardo for a long moment, wavering and uncertain, but another painful clench and wave of heat made the decision for him. 

He sagged. "...Okay. Fine. I'll stay." It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

Leonardo beamed.

While Desmond was content to crash on the bed and just writhe for the next week, Leonardo had quite a different idea. He bullied Desmond out of his layers, although he conceded with a frustrated breath when Desmond would only shed his outer layers and left on his tunic and breeches. He coaxed Desmond to stretch across the modest cot and wiped his forehead, face, and neck of sweat with a cool, wet cloth, murmuring comforting encouragement as he did.

It was...nice _—_ startlingly so. It was different from the all-encompassing force of protective, attentive care Ezio had showered on him, but the feeling of support was the same. 

The look on Leonardo's face the first time he'd hurriedly shoved an old wooden pail Desmond's way so he could throw up was also very familiar. The expression of horror and panic was enough to make Desmond crack a smile.

"I have never seen anything like this," Leonardo muttered, troubled. He carefully guided Desmond back into a lying position. "You must be very sick indeed."

Desmond weakly shook his head, eyes closed against even the faint light pouring through the windows. "This is normal." Desmond clenched his teeth against another punishingly fierce spasm, twitching in discomfort when he felt the first involuntary, wet trickle between his legs. "I think..."

"What do you mean?"

Exhausted, Desmond gave Leonardo an abridged version of his conversation with the doctor earlier that day. 

Leonardo looked absolutely aghast when Desmond glanced at him. 

"That _—_ this is _terrible!"_ Leonardo looked down at Desmond as if he were wasting away before his eyes. Which _—_ well, wasn't inaccurate, he supposed. "I can help, _Fantasma,_ but I am no Alpha. Surely there is _someone—"_

 _"No."_ Desmond wrapped trembling fingers around Leonardo's wrist, glared straight into his eyes. "I don't _want_ an Alpha, Leonardo."

"This is your _life,"_ Leonardo pressed, an unhappy frown twisting his lips. "It need not be a mating, and to ignore the doctor's warning when you are clearly suffering _—_ there is no sense in this!" Leonardo pried Desmond's hand away so that he could cradle it in both of his, blue eyes beseeching. "Allow me to reach out. I know your relationship is a point of contention, but my friend, Ezio, is a trustworthy man who commands many. Among them he could find you a partner through this _—_ "

Desmond groaned, loud and pained but mostly just annoyed. He didn't want to have this argument a second time.

"Leonardo, _please._ He _can't_ know I'm here, okay? If he finds out I'm going through my heat again _—_ "

 _"Scusi?"_ Leonardo's eyes brightened with curiosity. "You two are acquainted?"

This conversation was exhausting him more than the heat. "...Yeah. He...he was there the last time I went through my heat," Desmond admitted reluctantly.

Leonardo looked ready to burst out of his own skin. "That is perfect! He would do so again, I am sure of it. I could send for him _—_ "

"NO! Please, just _—_ " Desmond swallowed, covered his face with a hand. "I can't rely on an Alpha. I _won't._ So just _—don't."_ When Leonardo opened his mouth, about to protest, Desmond's face hardened. "If you send for him, I'll leave. I mean it."

Leonardo only lasted a few seconds into the glaring contest before he deflated. "Save me from the stubbornness of Assassins," he muttered. "Very well, _Il Fantasma,_ though you are wrong in this. You gamble with something too precious to leave to chance."

Desmond knew Leonardo's intention was to make him feel bad, but the relief that washed over him made it easy to ignore. It allowed him to finally close his eyes, to turn his focus back on his body and surviving this goddamn _heat._

"Thank you," he said on a sigh. Arousal kept his skin feeling overheated and flushed, but the sheer amount of pain drove away any urge to slake it _—_ besides, he was _barely_ hard. "I appreciate it, Leonardo, really."

"Yes, yes," Leonardo said tiredly. He resumed wiping down Desmond's face. "You can thank me once you have recovered."

Several times, Desmond urged Leonardo back to his work, to his paints and his art, but Leonardo refused to leave his side. The guilt finally made itself know, joined the pain to gnaw at his insides, hating that he had so effectively disrupted Leonardo's life. 

After a few hours, however, the heat wiped away the ability to feel _anything_ other than a confusing mix of feverish, nauseous, and vaguely horny. He found himself grateful he'd thrown up so early into his heat, because he was pretty sure the strength it would take to heave again would make him pass out and he _always_ woke up feeling worse after he fainted. But still, as the hours stretched and his blood felt like it was _boiling,_ trapped under his skin, it was hard not to wish he'd taken Leonardo up on his offer.

It was the heat talking, of course, but it was a thought that plagued him nonetheless, a mental torture to complete the physical. 

Eventually, Leonardo's touch pulled away and he cracked open his eyes, a tiny noise of distress leaving him before he could catch it.

Leonardo's warm palm settled over his forehead in a fond caress. "I will be but a moment, _Fantasma._ I know you might not have the strength, but we must try to get some food into you." 

Desmond grimaced, but he knew Leonardo was right. Fingers trailed through his hair in a few passes of soothing understanding.

 _"Un momento,"_ Leonardo murmured, and he left.

Desmond rolled over to face the wall. He curled into a ball and clutched himself as minute shivers wracked his body. He pressed his forehead to cool stone and prayed for the strength to make it through another week of this. Dying would suck, obviously, but he _really_ didn't want to make Leonardo have to deal with it. It would be such a dick move, making Leonardo swear not to do the one thing that was guaranteed to save him and then die anyway.

He had no idea how long Leonardo was gone, and perhaps if he had, he would have suspected something sooner.

In the end, it was nothing as obvious as the opening of a door or footsteps that signaled to him he was no longer alone. Wracked with fever, his _nose_ pulled him from the depths of pain-fueled delirium, enticed by something vaguely woodsy and strong, threaded with notes of spices and iron. Something... _familiar._

Desmond's eyes fluttered and he weakly tipped his torso over to lie flat and looked straight into Ezio's eyes, kneeling at Desmond's bedside.

 _"Il Fantasma,"_ he greeted, grim and calm.

Desmond froze, didn't breathe. 

_...No._

Ezio's face creased into a frown as Desmond's distress made itself plain in both his expression and scent. He reached out a hand. "Peace _—_ "

It wasn't a conscious decision to move _—_ only, one moment he was laying there, the next, he was as far away as he could be on the bed, _crushing_ himself against the wall. It felt like his heart was bruising his chest from the force of its pounding.

"How _—_ " But he knew; Desmond scowled, panicked and scared and _hurt._ "Leonardo. He called you here, didn't he?"

"He did," Ezio said.

Desmond scowled. "I should have known better." Leonardo had caved into Desmond's demands too easily; _of course,_ he sent for Ezio.

Ezio didn't move from his position crouched by the bed, though he rested an elbow on his knee as he pointed.

"Leonardo only wants to see you safe from harm, even if it is a harm of your own making."

"He _—_ " A white-hot lance of pain, another disgusting gush of slick; Desmond squeezed his eyes shut as he weathered it. "He's a traitor," he said darkly. 

_"Enough._ Leonardo has acted as a true friend in this; do not condemn him for doing what you are clearly too stubborn to do."

Desmond didn't say anything, still catching his breath, but he leveled Ezio with the best glare he could muster _—_ a difficult feat between the fading sunlight and fever, but he managed.

Ezio wasn't cowed in the slightest. His hood was thrown back and the steely determination that set his jaw filled Desmond with foreboding. He'd never known Ezio to wear that face and not accomplish exactly what he meant to.

"Leonardo told me everything," Ezio started, voice pitched slightly softer. It cracked his stern visage, enough for concern to bleed onto his features. "You _must_ let me help you."

Desmond shuddered, dropped his gaze to the thin sheet covering the cot. His sudden movement and the effort of keeping himself upright and vigilant was swiftly wearing down what reserve energy he had left. The very real possibility of passing out and the choice being taken right out of his hands frightened him.

Ezio sighed, a sharp, impatient inhale. The Alpha pheromones he was exuding, even just unconsciously, were _intoxicating_ and Desmond found his eyes fluttering, had to fight the urge to sway into Ezio's grasp.

Ezio rose and the motion made Desmond tense even further, eyeing him with wary distrust. Ezio crossed his arms and he looked every inch the fearsome Mentor that was renowned in these times, cold and merciless with pitiless, dispassionate dark eyes, like someone who could kill you without question and would feel nothing.

"If you do not come with me willingly," he said, bringing every single one of Desmond's nightmares to life, "I will Command you."

Icy terror made every muscle in Desmond's body lock up. An Alpha Command. He'd been given a heaping helping of nightmare fuel since his time in and out of the animus, but the thought of being Commanded still beat out even the _worst_ Bleeding Effect hallucination. Panic and horror clawed at his throat and he exhaled shakily, furious and terrified as he stared up at Ezio.

"You _wouldn't."_

"I would," Ezio confirmed grimly, face carved from stone. "In the service of preserving your life, yes. I would do this."

"You _can't—"_

"Then tell me where I may take you!" Ezio pressed, an edge of frustration making its way into his tone. He gestured with his arms splayed wide. "Tell me where to find your pack, or an Alpha that you trust to help you. I will deliver you into their arms _myself."_

But of course, Desmond had no answers for him and, after a tense silence, Ezio dropped his arms and nodded like he'd expected nothing less. 

"I find no satisfaction in gaining your compliance in this way. But there is no fighting your nature, nor what you must do to survive." Great. Another lecture. "Come with me to Tiber. There is no shortage of available Alphas who could ease your Time. I trust every single one of them with my life."

Just the _thought_ of it made Desmond want to be sick. He shook his head, tried not to vomit when the motion proved too much.

 _"_ _No,"_ he breathed, trembling.

He locked his mouth shut, sure that if he opened it to tell Ezio to fuck off, the exact _opposite_ would come out. This close, without bars to separate them, the temptation Ezio provided was near-overwhelming. His scent was one of instant comfort, brought Desmond right back to the cell and his gentle, steady touch, the relaxing and deep cadence of his voice.

Desmond gritted his teeth. He wouldn't be weak.

Ezio looked away for a brief moment, a deep frown on his lips. His gaze landed on one of the thin windows and as he stared out of it and his expression smoothed, serious and sober _._

"I do not know what brought you to _Roma,"_ Ezio said slowly, "But dying like this does nothing to further your goals."

And that...wasn't what he'd expected. For the first time, Desmond faltered in his white-knuckled determination to deny everything Ezio said by default. 

Because...Ezio was _right,_ right in a way he couldn't counter at all. It seemed that, at this rate, he really _would_ die. And while he'd accepted the inevitability of that, it didn't sit as well with him when he still had the power to avoid it. 

He'd been given a second chance, more or less, no matter what Juno or Minerva or _whoever_ truly intended by bringing him here. And maybe no one had done this to him, maybe he'd found himself flung into the past just by random chance, a glitch in the Apple or something, but it still kept him breathing past the point where he thought he'd ever need to do so again. 

He _hated_ the idea of submitting to an Alpha more than words could ever truly express. But Desmond didn't want to die.

Heart racing in renewed fear, Desmond's eyes fell shut in a grimace, swamped with a defeat that settled over his skin like a damp, cold cloak. 

Voice a thread of sound, he finally uttered, "...Okay. I'll go."

Ezio's head snapped to him, shocked, but when Desmond didn't take it back, his shoulders fell. _"Bene,"_ he said, plainly relieved. "You will have privacy, a guard, whatever you wish, you have my word."

Desmond just nodded, exhausted, and tried to beat back the despair that threatened to swallow him and make him cry in front of _Ezio Auditore_ of all people. 

"Is there..." Ezio tone took a turn for the hesitant and Desmond glanced up at him. "Is there anyone within the Brotherhood you would prefer?"

Another weary shake of the head. "I don't _know_ your people," he muttered. 

A pause, and then Ezio sank back to one knee. He didn't say anything at first and that brought Desmond's eyes back up.

Ezio placed a palm over his heart. His eyes bore into Desmond, dark and serious and steadfast. "Then consider me."

Immediately, Desmond tensed. He didn't even want to _think_ about it, even though the possibility had been staring him in the face since he'd first realized he was going into heat again. But it was undeniable that if he ever did choose an Alpha to go through his heat with, Ezio _was_ that Alpha.

Didn't mean Desmond had to admit it, though.

 _"Il Fantasma._ You have nothing to fear from me," and Desmond almost argued that he wasn't scared of shit, but in heat, his scent made it only too plain; to argue would be even _more_ embarrassing. "I would treat you well."

His sincerity was disarming and Desmond felt a stab of guilt, making Ezio defend his character like that.

"I know," Desmond said, swallowing. "I know that. But..." He winced against even the most fleeting of memories, refused to give them voice. "I...I've never done _any_ of this before," he admitted hesitantly. "The last time I was with an Alpha...it didn't go so well."

A charged silence followed that confession and Desmond could practically _feel_ the questions piling up in the space between them.

But, to his credit, Ezio didn't press him, even though this was twice now that he had Desmond at his most vulnerable and could have gotten any answers he wanted out of him.

"I could say all manner of things," Ezio said. "I can assure you of my character a thousand times over, but my actions will be the only thing that will prove myself to you."

Ezio rose and offered his hand to Desmond, face cleared of anything other than conviction and reassurance. 

"Let me help you, _Il Fantasma."_

Desmond's eyes darted between Ezio's face and his palm, a palm he'd, admittedly, never stopped thinking about since the moment it had left his skin for the final time. The heat surged through his blood, stabbed and tore at his organs, punished him for the cardinal sin of wanting independence and Ezio waited for Desmond's permission to deliver him from all of it.

He could have taken Desmond, he didn't even _have_ to get Desmond's permission, but he had. He _waited._

Desmond swallowed, heart thundering in his chest, and _prayed_ he was making the right decision. 

Slowly, he raised his arm, hesitated just a few inches away, then finally slipped his hand into Ezio's.

"Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, he said yes.....
> 
> To all of you who've commented saying you don't typically enjoy ABO but are giving this version a chance: please dm me your bank account info so I can send you five thousand dollars. 
> 
> SERIOUSLY though, it's so flattering!!! I tend to write ABO without most of the typical elements people come to it for, mainly because I prefer to cherry-pick the parts I like and ignore the rest, so hearing that this fic is being enjoyed for that very reason??? Incredibly validating, I owe you all my lives lol!


End file.
